The Dean Winchester Theories
by Mummyluvr
Summary: Dean Winchester is a mysterious and complex individual. These are just a few of my theories about him, written out in prose form as drabbles.  Give 'em a shot.  You might be surprised.
1. Shining Like The Sun

I've been wanting to write some drabbles on why Dean is the way he is for a while, and I finally got around to it. As of tonight there are four, but that could change as time goes on. These are just my little theories on Dean and his actions. For example, did you know that he mainly went after blondes in season 1?

**Title:** The Dean Winchester Theories

**Summary:** Dean Winchester is a mysterious and complex individual. I'm just trying to figure him out the only way I know how: with stories.

**A/N:** Right now, there are only four chapters. Once those are psoted, I'll say this is complete, but as time goes by I might add more, depending on what happens. It might be smart to add this to story alerts.

* * *

The Dean Winchester Theories 

#1

Shining Like The Sun

He eyed the woman from across the bar, loving the way her blonde hair shone even in the weak lighting of the little dive. She was perfect. He could see that her eyes were green, even from his far-away vantage point. Yes. He wanted her.

It had been in his Junior High years that his particular taste in women had been pointed out to him. Sam had been the first to notice, drawing Dean's attention to it. He liked blondes. All of his dates, all of his brief girlfriends… they had hair that shone like the sun.

Sam had also noted that Dean liked green eyes. Dean had wanted to know why Sammy paid so much attention to those kinds of things, and Sam had said that there wasn't much else to do. It was just an observation. No need to get snippy about it.

Dean didn't get snippy about it, but he had started to think. It was true. He preferred blonde-haired, green-eyed women. He'd sat up a couple of nights back then, all those years ago, wondering to himself about the trend. It had taken a totally unrelated event for him to realize why he chose the women he did.

He'd been flipping through his dad's journal one day, looking for information on something they'd been hunting, something their dad had missed, trying hard to make the older man proud. He'd seen a picture nestled between two pages. It was one he hadn't seen in a while, so he took a good look at it. His parents on their wedding day.

That was when he noticed it. His mother. She had blonde hair and green eyes. It was almost as if every girl he'd ever dated, every girl he'd ever kissed, every girl he'd ever thought of going all the way with, was staring out of that picture at him.

He had closed the journal, wondering what kind of sick person he was to want to date someone who looked like his mother. No one could ever replace her. What had he been thinking? That all blondes with green eyes were kind and warm and loving and accepting and would tell him exactly what he wanted to hear and chase the monsters from under his bed? That people like that would just love him automatically and unconditionally like his mother had? That, maybe just for a little while, he could have her back again?

That was exactly it. She'd loved him, no matter what. He hadn't even had to try to gain her affection. He hadn't worked for her love, not like he worked for his father's, and, in later years, his brother's. He just wanted someone to want him.

It hadn't taken Dean long to realize that if he could figure it out, Sammy could too. That couldn't happen. Sam would never let him live it down.

That day, Dean had decided to mix it up when it came to women, even if he didn't initially find them attractive. He dated a brunette, a redhead or two. He didn't feel the same way about them, didn't kiss them, didn't let himself fall in love. He'd never really had experience with women like that, didn't know if they would turn on him or not.

Mostly, though, he stuck to blondes. He liked blondes. When Sam left for school, Dean dropped the act and only picked blondes.

There was one girl who wasn't, but she didn't really matter, just reinforced his belief that only a blonde could really love him. The girl wasn't blonde. She dumped him. He told her everything, opened himself up, started to think that he had been wrong, and she'd dumped him.

He'd never been dumped by a blonde.

Smiling, Dean walked up to the radiant beauty at the bar, turning on the charm and offering to buy her a drink. He could tell by the way she looked at him, the way her hair shimmered yellow, the way her eyes reminded him of fresh-cut grass that it would be a good night. She would love him. All blondes did.


	2. Sleepless Nights

Crap. I always forget the disclaimer. You guys know the drill, though, right?

Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are not mine. They belong to Kripke, who belongs to the CW, who doesn't know what it has.

* * *

#2

Sleepless Nights

She was warm and soft and squirmed playfully in his embrace as their lips met. She was blonde, as was his style. She was perfect, was in his control, was his to mold and manipulate as he did so often nowadays.

It wasn't his fault, really. It was everyone else. They left. They left just when he thought they loved him, when he told them that he loved them back.

His mother, his brother, his father, Cassie, Jo, Gordon, so many others from nameless towns that he had passed through in his childhood. He's let them in, trusted them to be there for him, and they had left. Something about him had driven them away.

After a few years of constant abandonment, Dean had become curious. He'd wondered what was wrong with him, had tried to find out, and had come up empty-handed. So he re-channeled his curiosity.

He wanted to know what it felt like to be the one to leave. Obviously, it was a good feeling, otherwise people wouldn't keep doing it to him.

He'd made a plan and, nervous enough that palms actually started sweating, had headed out to the local bar. He'd found a brunette, not usually his type, but he didn't want to hurt a blonde, didn't want to go there just yet. He had to know what it felt like first, before he started hurting people that loved him.

He took his brunette back to a motel- not the one he was staying at, but a different one- and had his way with her. They made out, which turned into something much more. She drifted off to sleep after they were done, and Dean finally put his plan into action. Quietly, he slipped out of the bed, pulled his clothes back on, and left the room. Just like that. He was gone.

He went back to his own room and laid awake most of the night, just thinking about what he had done. That girl was going to wake up alone and wonder where he went, was possibly going to miss him, to look for him, to- his heart skipped a beat and his stomach twisted into knots at the thought of it- _wait_ for him. Just like he was waiting for his family.

His methods evolved after that. He moved on to different girls in each town, taking one every night of his stay. Their hair got lighter with each town, and he got bolder all the time, until he finally asked the question he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to. "Do you love me?" In the heat of the moment, she replied with an affirmative.

He started asking it more and more, loving the way it felt to leave knowing that the girl he was abandoning loved him, would miss him, would search for him, would live her life waiting for him to return. He was certain of it. She loved him, after all.

He looked into the green eyes of the latest girl, loving the way he could get lost in them. "Tell me you love me," he breathed.


	3. Gluttony Is A Sin

This is, by far, my favorite chapter, so reviews would be nice. Thanks!

* * *

#3

Gluttony is a Sin

Gluttony was one of the seven deadly sins. He knew that. He that very well. He just didn't care. It wasn't his fault that he liked food, liked the way it made him feel. His father and brother looked at him with an odd mixture of disgust and interest painted on their features whenever they had dinner together. Dean didn't mind. At least it got them to stop fighting.

Maybe that was part of it. Maybe he just hated them fighting so much that he was willing to nearly choke himself every night so that they could get along for just a little while, banding together to make fun of him. So what if his self-esteem took a blow? Not like that mattered.

But that wasn't what had started it. It had started after the fire. He'd never loved food so much until after his mother's death. She used to make him good things, home cooked things, and he missed them. Fast food couldn't compare to his mom's macaroni.

He'd felt so empty after her death, like nothing would ever be the same again. He didn't talk. He didn't eat. His father begged and begged, but Dean was stubborn. What was the point of living?

That had become fairly easy to answer early on. Sammy. Sam was the point of living. Because it didn't take long for John to forget about Dean's mute, hungry ass. He focused on the hunt. He lost sight of everything else, including Sam.

Dean took care of the baby, but he was weak and tired and empty. So, one day, he'd filled back up.

It had been a sandwich that he'd made himself, with a piece of old and probably spoiled lunchmeat and bread that was only a couple of days away from becoming moldy. He didn't care, though. It was the first real thing he'd eaten since his mother's death, and it had filled him up. It made him feel better.

He wasn't empty anymore when he ate. There was something inside him. It made him stronger, and he was able to take care of the baby. He felt good knowing that he could take care of his brother while he was fueled up like that.

Eventually, he learned how to cook. Just simple stuff at first, but that was all he needed. The hot food felt good, tasted good, made him forget about life. There hadn't been much good in the world since his mother's death, but the food fixed that. As long as he was eating, everything was right. He was happy and full. It brought him pleasure.

Naturally, eating that much, even as an active kid, led to him gaining weight. His dad threatened to lock the cupboards, to take that high away from him, to make him feel empty all the time, to take the good out of the world.

Dean had fought, had kicked and screamed and promised not to eat as much and exercise more. Dad hadn't believed him. The locks had gone on, and Dean had felt empty again. When the food came out, he shoved away as much as he could, sometimes even stuffing it away in his pockets for later.

He waited for the meals, was actually excited when his dad left them with someone while he went hunting. It meant Dean could raid cupboards, could ask for snacks, could eat his fill and then some.

And it felt so good.


	4. Home Sweet Home

Really glad you guys are liking this one. This will probably be the last chapter, but who knows what season 3 will bring. Well, besides the writers, directors, actors, and people who read spoilers...

* * *

#4

Home Sweet Home

It smelled like home. It felt like home. He'd lived most of his life there. And no one, especially not some damned demonic trucker, was going to take his home away from him.

Sam looked at him like he was crazy, but Dean didn't mind. He had his home.

After Sam had left for college, when dad was gone on hunts, he would sleep in the car as it sat in the parking lot of the motel, right outside the room he was paying for. He liked sleeping at home. It was safe and familiar and he had a sneaking suspicion that his parents had done a few naughty things in the backseat, a fact that just made him feel closer to the both of them.

It was his connection to normal, something constant that could never change, could never be taken from him. The car couldn't leave like the people had. The car, at least, would stick by him.


	5. In His Defense

Hey, guess what? Came up with another one! Kinda short, though...

* * *

#5

In His Defense

"That fabric softener teddy bear. Ooh, I wanna hunt that little bitch down." He was scared. He was hurt.

"We're gonna be working things out until we're ninety." Abandoned. Alone. Unwanted.

"You mind getting on with this? 'Cause I really can't stand the monologing." More fear. More pain. A familiar voice cutting him with words he'd always suspected were true, but had never imagined would be spoken aloud.

It was funny. It was all part of his MO. Mask all that nasty pain. Mask the truth. It was a defense mechanism, the only way he could make sure that people were laughing _with_ him instead of _at_ him.

And it worked.

He would crack a joke and laugh along with his tormentors, his captors, his abandoners. Because if anyone was laughing, it was going to be Dean- and not at his own expense.


End file.
